On a cold and wet Saturday afternoon there are two types of pub. One where you decide 'well, that's us here for the rest of the day' and the other where you longingly look out of the window and question 'how cold and wet is it really?' The Earl Spencer falls into the second category. The welcome is fair enough – a bright and knowledgeable barman explains that all of their ales are London-brewed and around 80 percent are local, and serves up tasters with his opinions.
But there needs to be more, and in truth this is a soul-less, echoey husk that is closer to a restaurant than a pub (the food, it should be said, is excellent). 'It's usually only busy at lunchtimes, from Friday to Sunday' we were told – a testament to the direction they have chosen – and then after a brief look around 'but there must be a lot of people on holiday at the moment'.
On our ten-minute walk from the tube station to the Earl Spencer we asked ourselves 'why would you disembark at Southfields?' on leaving the pub the answer was still the same – 'because you live there'.